Beneath the light in the hard gray hall
guilty of rebellion flashing on the wall
I sit at the center of its violent rays
my eyes caught in the movement dangling there.

The interrogator speaks through sequential frames
within my mind, numbed by the circuitous "No!"
of judges fearful of artistic minds

It's me in my room, unbound by the law of shock
playing with thoughts and signs brewing in the cauldron of life
a maze of "musts" plotting in my addiction box
awaiting attention to soothe the questioner's thirst
and height'ning guilt filling the cracks on the  wall.

Departing this room will be no easy task.
All players are trapped in a pile of single selves
whose power is bound in a lack of will.

The light awaits the victim's rise and flight
the smashing of frames and stuffing of the inquisitor's mouth.